Chapter 4 - Blood and FireThe hospital corridor dissolved into pure, terrifying chaos.
The shrieking fire alarm drowned out the sudden, heavy thud of automatic gunfire echoing down the hall. Smoke began pouring through the air vents as flashbang grenades detonated in the elevator lobby.
"Ethan!" Damien yelled over the din, aiming his pistol toward the doorway. "Get Ava out through the service elevator! I will hold the corridor with Dominic!"
"No!" I screamed, grabbing my mother's arm. "I am not leaving my mother!"
Ethan didn't ask for permission. He grabbed me by my waist, lifting me effortlessly off my feet as if I weighed nothing!
"Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking and flailing against his chest. "Mom!"
"Your mother is safe in this room, Ava!" Ethan barked, slamming the heavy reinforced steel door behind us and locking it from the outside with a electronic bypass key. "This room is built like a vault! The glass is bulletproof! If you stay out here, you die!"
He dragged me down a narrow service hallway as bullets began ripping through the drywall around us! Sparks showered over my hair!
Ethan spun around, shoving me behind a heavy steel laundry cart, pulled his weapon, and fired four rapid shots down the hall—BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Two men wearing black tactical gear and skull masks collapsed onto the linoleum floor.
I covered my ears, squeezing my eyes shut as the deafening noise rattled my brain. I was a waitress. I carried soup trays. I cleaned tables. I didn't belong in a warzone!
Ethan reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to my feet. "Move! Now!"
We burst through a set of double doors leading into the hospital’s industrial kitchen. Kitchen staff were screaming, scrambling out the back exit into the alley.
Before we could reach the delivery bay, a tall man stepped out from behind a stainless steel prep counter.
He was dressed in a pristine gray suit, holding a silver revolver. He had cold blue eyes and a cruel, razor-thin smile.
Julian Vance.
"Ethan," Julian said smoothly, raising the silver revolver. "My traitorous nephew. Running errands for the old king's bastard daughter?"
Ethan immediately shifted his body, stepping directly between Julian’s gun and me, covering me completely with his broad frame.
"Hello, Uncle," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "You look old."
"Hand the girl over, Ethan," Julian sneered. "Damien’s empire is crumbling. The Commission voted an hour ago to dismantle the Moretti territory if he couldn't produce a legitimate heir. This little girl is his only defense. Hand her to me, and I’ll restore your family name."
"My father's name was destroyed the day you put a bullet in his back, Julian," Ethan replied coldly.
Julian’s smile vanished. "Then die with her."
Julian pulled the trigger!
BANG!
Ethan didn't duck. He lunged forward like a striking predator! A bullet grazed Ethan’s left shoulder, ripping through his white shirt and sending a spray of blood across the tile floor, but he didn't slow down!
Ethan tackled Julian into a massive stainless steel prep table! The heavy table flipped over with a deafening crash of pots and pans!
The two men tumbled across the slick floor in a brutal, violent struggle. Julian aimed the revolver at Ethan’s head, but Ethan grabbed Julian’s wrist, twisting it violently until the bone cracked with a sickening sound!
Julian screamed as the silver revolver skidded across the floor, stopping right at my feet.
Ethan slammed his elbow into Julian’s jaw, knocking the older man unconscious.
Panting heavily, blood dripping from his shoulder, Ethan stood up over his uncle. He looked down at the gun at my feet, then looked up at me.
"Pick it up, Ava," Ethan breathed, his dark eyes locked onto mine.
I stared at the heavy silver gun. My hands shook so violently I could barely function. "I... I can't..."
"Pick it up!" Ethan commanded, stepping toward me, his blood pooling on his white shirt. "Julian’s men are coming down those stairs right now. If you want to survive in this city, you need to learn how to hold a weapon!"
I leaned down, my trembling fingers wrapping around the cold steel handle of the revolver. It was heavy, terrifying, and real.
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Ethan took my hand, positioning my fingers over the grip, his warm, blood-stained hand covering mine.
"Look at me," Ethan whispered, his face inches from mine, his dark eyes fierce and unwavering. "You aren't just Isabella's daughter anymore. You are a Moretti. Act like it."
